


The Third Brother

by ashitanoyuki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Hell, Rescue, Season 9 aftermath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashitanoyuki/pseuds/ashitanoyuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain perks to being a knight of Hell. One of these perks is access to the Cage. Dean makes use of his new status to rescue his half-brother from years of torture and pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Brother

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as a one-shot, but I'm going to put up a second chapter at some point.

His disappearance would hurt Sam, leave him broken and confused and wondering. Grieving. Dean felt it through layer after layer of twisted darkness, a guilt that would have once consumed him now only the barest flicker of regret. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to come back.

Hell had changed since he last was here, and it seemed that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Dean could strip through Crowley’s lies of a kinder, more merciful Hell; the queue dumped out into waiting cells, and while the racks were not running at full capacity, scattered souls dangled here and there, moaning and screaming their pain as demons tore at their flesh.

He stopped at one of the racks to gaze up into a familiar face. Limp brown hair hung raggedly around the woman’s shoulders; ripped Versace hung from once smooth shoulders; familiar eyes stared dully down at him. Dean turned his face to the unfamiliar demon working the rack, a small, unimportant creature who cowered before him. “Let this one go,” he ordered, nodding at the woman.

“Sir?” the demon asked, confused. “Crowley said—”

“Forget Crowley,” Dean snapped, running a loving finger over the hilt of the first blade. “Take her down.”

Red-rimmed, pain-twisted eyes stared at Dean through a layer of murky black. She was well on her way to becoming a demon herself, but he could at least afford her a break. “Sorry we couldn’t save you, Bela,” he said casually, and was surprised to realize that he meant it. He knew damn well why she was here—she didn’t deserve it.

But he wasn’t here for Bela. Dean moved on, looking over the racks for more familiar faces. He stopped to admire the broken face of a pale old hunter, chuckling at the man’s betrayed expression. “Bet you weren’t expecting the downstairs seat, were you, Kubrick?” he asked, laughing as the man cursed and struggled. “Pay this one some extra attention,” he ordered the demon in charge of the rack. Serve the bastard right, all the times he’d tried to kill Sammy.

One more detour before he went for the prize. Dean stopped before his own rack, his home for thirty years, his penance, his salvation. It had not been touched since Alastair had let him off it; he ran a reverent hand over rusted iron, shuddering at the memories it brought back. Memories of shattered bone and flayed skin and unending, unbearable agony. “Hope you’re burning, wherever dead demons go,” he muttered, spitting on the rack. Pity that Sam had killed Alastair. Dean would love to string him up right here and go to town, really pay him back for all the pokes and prods. Oh well. When he died—when he got back and either Sam or Cas inevitably killed him—he’d track down Alastair in whatever afterlife was afforded to demons. He’d rip the skin from the man’s bones and wear it as a coat and laugh.

But he had a goal to meet first. Other demons might be clueless, but the mark of Cain throbbed on his arm, tying Dean inexorably to Lucifer. He followed the burn, slinking easily through Hell, smiling as the demon hordes parted to let him pass. Their knight. Their warrior. The object of their terror—it was good to be feared.

The cage, it seemed, existed in its own dimension in Hell. Dean cut his palm with the first blade and let it drip over that spot of once-holy energy, muttering Enochian words he could only begin to understand—and then he was in. A blank wasteland appeared before him, clearing away the racks and cells and unending torment, bringing him to a new realm of torture and pain.

“Dean.” He flinched, instinctively cowering as a bright creature appeared before him, all white light and unending wings and holy goodness. Michael. Dean clenched his hand around the blade, trembling as the force of Michael’s presence threatened to blow it away. “You should not be here. And you—” the angel’s hand brushed his cheek, igniting his nerves, sending agony shooting through his body. “You should never have come. You should never have taken on the mark.”

Dean glared at the angel, not bothering to hold back the force of his rage. “I don’t care what I _should_ do, insufferable little _angel,”_ he spat. “I’m here for my brother.”

“Sam?” He could feel Michael’s confusion, tinged with amusement. Fucking self-righteous angels. “You haven’t heard? Sam got out.”

Dean scowled. “Not Sam,” he snapped angrily. “Adam. You know, the innocent kid you rode into this pit? The one you never had _any_ fucking right to touch?”

Michael drew back, his glow dimming slightly. “Adam,” he said quietly, the force of his voice still rattling Dean’s bones. “I’m afraid my power is greatly diminished in the cage. This is Lucifer’s domain. If you want Adam, you will have to go through Lucifer.”

Dean could have guessed this much. There was no heavenly energy in this pit—none that counted. “Take me to him,” he demanded.

He couldn’t quite make out Michael’s face, but he could just feel the angel’s lips turning up in a sneer. “What makes you think I have any idea where my dear brother is?” the archangel demanded, his voice growing louder, sending shooting pains through Dean’s skull.

“Look,” Dean snarled, “Adam’s innocent. Whatever beef you have with Lucifer, you know damn well an innocent kid don’t deserve to be here.”

The light surrounding Michael cleared slightly, revealing a towering creature, a multitude of wings and too many faces, each more terrifying than the last. Dean resisted the urge to drop to his knees and scream—he needed to remain strong. He owed the kid that much. “I see even demonhood cannot destroy all of your righteous soul,” Michael said, pensive. “This is why you were made for me.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Dean drawled, though his voice quavered slightly. “My brother. Now.”

Michael sighed and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean screamed as the touch of the holy being sent sparks of agony through his core, burning, burning, burning. “This will be unpleasant.”

The ground gave way and for an exhilarating moment they were flying, and then they landed, deep inside some unending cave, the only light coming from the bodies of two brightly glowing archangels.

He could feel Lucifer’s fury, his indignation, his grief; it cut him to the core, and Dean fell to his knees, body spasming. “Michael,” Lucifer said, his voice thick with misery, with longing. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Oh, you know what.” Dean shrieked as the full force of Michael’s voice hit him, rending his skin, his essence. “You felt your knight the moment he entered Hell.”

“True,” Lucifer agreed, laying a hand on Dean’s forehead. Some of the pain eased, if only for a moment, and he scrambled to his feet, panting. “Not the brother I would have anticipated taking up that mantle.” He regarded Dean curiously. “Why are you here?”

Dean swallowed hard, leaning against the wall of the cage. “Adam,” he croaked. “I’m here for Adam.”

Lucifer nodded seriously. “Take him,” he said after a long moment. “He grows dull, after all these centuries. Take him and be done with it.” The archangel’s glow burst forth, illuminating the cage, drawing Dean’s attention to a lump of mangled meat that might once have been a human being.

“Adam,” he croaked, racing forward and gathering his half-brother up into his arms. All flayed skin and broken bones, he was shocked that the man was still breathing. Breath in Hell—unnecessary, but it would be important topside. “Adam, you with me man?”

“No more.” The words came out tiny, broken and feeble. If Dean had still had a soul, he was sure it would have shattered with the horror. “Please, no more.”

“I’ve got you.” Dean cradled Adam’s body close to his chest and turned to face the archangels. “Let me pass.”

Lucifer did not move, but Michael stepped back, allowing Dean to move between them. Carefully, Dean carried his brother’s broken body to the edge of the cage and set him down, performing the ritual to send them both from the cage and back into Hell proper.

There were certain perks to being a Knight of Hell, Dean decided, as he moved freely through the pit. A few demons stared at him as he passed, muttering curiously, but none made a move to stop him. He reached the passage between dimensions, the break that would allow him transport back to Earth, and stepped through it, focusing on the bunker.

Sam really needed to re-do the demon-proofing, Dean thought wryly, as he materialized in the dungeon, Adam’s broken body clutched tight to his chest. He took a step, then another step, and then he was blown backwards several paces as his body came in contact with the edge of the devil’s trap in which he had materialized.

A burst of pain shot through his body as a deluge of water crashed over his head. Dean screamed, dropping Adam to claw at his face as searing agony shot through his flesh. “Sammy!” he shouted, falling to his knees and staring around wildly.

The lights flicked on; Sam towered above him, his entire body tense and tight with barely-controlled rage. “Get out of him,” the man hissed, staring down at Dean. “Get out!”

“Easy there.” Dean scrambled to his feet, spreading his arms wide. “Sammy, it’s me. I promise.”

“No.” Sam shook his head, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “No. Dean is dead. I saw him die. I—I carried him in here. I’m the one who—” he gulped, a tear sliding down his face. “I took care of his body. He’s dead. Now get _out_ of his body!”

Dean shook his head wildly, staring at Sam. “Sammy, you’ve gotta believe me, it’s me. Don’t know what happened, but I woke up like this. But it’s still me, Sam. It’s still me.”

Sam stared at him, tears falling freely now. “No,” he whispered. “No. It can’t be you. Not—not like this.”

“Sammy.” Dean took a step forward, stopping as his body came in contact with hard, impermeable air. “Please. Worry about that later. I need you to call Cas.”

“Why?” Sam demanded, a short, hysterical laugh slipping from his lips. “How could Cas possibly help with this?”

Dean sighed and crouched down, hefting Adam off the floor. Still breathing. Still alive. Somewhere deep inside him, Dean felt relief coil in his chest. So it hadn’t been all for nothing. “Remember Adam?” he asked, turning their brother’s face so Sam could see.

Sam faltered, his eyes going wide. “Adam?” he asked croakily, stepping forward and pulling their half-brother from Dean’s arms. “How did you—”

“Perks of being a knight of Hell.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Now will you call Cas, please? He’s not gonna last very long like this. And maybe let me out of here?”

Sam hesitated, then shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said with finality. “But I’ll call Cas. For Adam. Not for—not for you.”

“Sammy, come on—” Dean scowled as the lights flickered off. The door slammed behind Sam, leaving him alone in the dark.

Well, he’d done what he’d gone to Hell to do. And whatever Sam and Cas would do to him in the aftermath, he was ready.


End file.
